


The Lost and the Loco

by RiaTheDreamer



Series: S15 Missing Scenes [9]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Grif's Doomed Colony, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots have to talk about stuff, Missing Scene, This partnership had their own adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-02-22 18:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13173174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/pseuds/RiaTheDreamer
Summary: "So it's just me and you and Lopez stuck in a cockpit? What a roadtrip.""This is not a roadtrip.""Es unshitshow."





	1. The Incredible Journey of the Locus Pocus

“Utterly fucking useless.”

That was how Felix had described Captain Dexter Grif. Locus had asked for intel on the newly appointed captains, and Felix had not exactly given him descriptions filled with praise. Though, he had warned him about Captain Tucker who was proving to be a bit more _eager_ than the rest of the team.

But Locus has insisted on following protocol, to know just enough about them in order to take them down quickly and smoothly later. As was the plan.

“Hey, if the big boss was more patient, I’d say we should just let the orange pile of fat loose on all the food storages. Fastest way to make a planet starve to death.”

That description did match how the Sergeant had described his soldier. Locus had been close enough to overhear their conversations at times, only to be baffled. Agent Washington was a puzzle in himself, a puzzle he was going to solve, but whenever a Sim Trooper would open their mouth illogical nonsense would leave it.

And Felix had continued, leaning his head back to laugh. “Can’t wait to shoot him in the gut. Have the nerd break down in tears. Or maybe we should do it vice versa. Might actually make Grif _try_ to fight back for once in his life. Not that it’ll matter. For him. I do like to drag out the fun. Orange or maroon. Hmm… What do you say?”

“What?” Locus asked. Sometimes Felix’ thoughts wandered too fast for him to follow.

Felix rolled his eyes at him. “Orange or maroon? Which moron to shoot first?”

* * *

The robot was at least partially right, Locus decided. While _shitshow_ was not the word he would have used, there was no denying that this mission was heading in another direction than what Locus had expected. Not that he’d had his hopes high in the beginning, but Captain Grif’s state has been… _unexpected_.

“- can't really be a roadtrip if there is no road? Spacetrip? Floaty-flying shiptrip. Have you ever seen a black hole? All that emptiness, huh. Wonder how that feels like. Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Do you have food? I had some but then I ate it ‘cause I got hungry and I always eat to much, and Simmons says I eat like a pig but I don’t think Simmons has ever seen a pig ‘cause he grew up in the city, and-“

“I have a storage,” Locus cut him off. Not necessarily to be rude, but he doubted that Grif would stop to breathe any time soon. At least there has been no indications that he was calming down.

“ _Nice_ ,” he said and left his seat. “Do you want anything?”

“I-“

Grif opened the overhead compartment, revealing the unsorted mess of MREs that Locus had managed to scavenge. A few of the places he’d visited he’d been offered real homemade food as a sign of gratitude. The taste had been almost uncanny after too many years with bare minimum taste experiences.

“I like spicy stuff but Donut always says his mouth is too delicate for that. Sarge wants his meat raw, which is weird, and Simmons prefers just to stick with the vegetables ‘cause he’s strange like that, but Donut read an article about some diet shit and he backs him up, but you usually can’t even tell the carrots from the meatballs in the MREs anyway. Which one is your fav? Do you like beef? You look like a beef guy.”

Locus was not quite sure what would qualify him as a so-called _beef guy_. He didn’t want to know. “I’m-“

Grif had his back turned to him. “Lopez doesn’t even eat food. It’s all the robot bits. But Simmons can still eat food, you know, with him being a cyborg, and that’s good, even though he always eats too little. Lopez likes oil, but only the mechanic kind. Donut tried to switch it out with some coconut diet oil-thingy he’d been using for some sort of pasta sauce that didn’t even taste good, but I ate it anyway and the others didn’t eat it, so I ate their portions as well, but Lopez wasn’t a fan of the coconut. Right, Lopez?”

The head, carefully placed among the volleyballs, glared at him. “Me cortocircuitaste.” [You short-circuited me.]

“Estabas bien,” Grif shrugged him off, and Locus doubted how fine a person could be after being short-circuited. But he had to correct himself: this was not a person, but a robot.

Grif started to rummage through the storage again, catching the MREs that fell off the shelf with a surprising ease. “Which one is your fav?” he asked, and it took a moment before Locus realized the question was being directed at him. But he never had the chance to answer it – not that he had planned to answer – before Grif continued, “Actually, wait, don’t say anything. Let me guess. I can totally tell from your face.”

“Él está usando un casco.” [He is wearing a helmet.]

“Meh. I can still pull it off.” Grif held out a package, tilting his head as he apparently considered this trivial decision. Then, without warning, he threw a MRE into Locus’ lap.

His head snapped towards him at the sudden motion, but Grif just grinned at him. Without a helmet, he freely showed his expression – a sense of expectation so strong it almost emitted from his eyes and small smile.

Locus bowed his head to see the meal Grif had chosen for him. _Beef brisket,_ the printed letters informed him.

“It’s my talent,” Grif said, and for a short moment he could see the pride in his eyes before it faded into uncertainty. Then the orange soldier turned his head, shielding his expression. He shrugged. “Not that’s it useful or anything but it’s kinda cool. Right? Sometimes. I don’t know.”

Locus stared at him.

Grif’s bit his lower lip for a second. “…It’s your favorite, right? I mean, you like it? I could have gotten it wrong but I’m usually pretty good at guessing but my mind – I think my mind is pretty screwed up. You know. But then again, who doesn’t like beef bri-“

“It’s fine,” Locus said because Grif’s expression was crumbling, as if tears were about to appear, and Locus refused to deal with that. He looked down at the package again, letting out a quiet huff. Beef brisket. Locus never picked himself a favorite, there was no need for that, but he remembered eating this variation before and enjoying the taste.

Grif continued to search through his compartment again, and he hoped that he’d still have a storage left when this mission was over. He decided not to get his hopes up.

“We should probably save the marble cakes for when we’ve saved the others. Victory dessert and all that. Sarge likes those compressed strawberries but I get why you like the cake. Want one now?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He held the package in his hand for some seconds, considering, but then he quickly but it back on the shelf, mumbling loudly, “For when we save the guys. Yeah. Soon. Hey, Locus, when do you think we’ve saved the guys?”

He hesitated, fingers brushing against buttons on the control panel. “I’m unsure.”

Grif’s head snapped towards him, eyes widened in what he recognized as worry. “What? Really?”

“Your robot-“

“His name is Lopez.”

Locus’ turned his head to stare at him. Grif didn’t look angry or frustrated, but instead there was an uncertain look in his eyes, something that Locus couldn’t read, and it made him frown secretly behind his visor.

There was a moment of silence before the head joined the conversation with another correction, “La Pesado.”

He gave them both a small nod. “ _Lopez_ informed me of the current threat your fellow Simulation Troopers compose. However, he is unable to pinpoint your friends’ exact location.”

“Intenta que tu cabeza vuele en el espacio y ve si todavía puedes encontrar tu camino. No es divertido estar enfermo del cósmico.” [Try to let your head fly in space and see if you can still find your way around. It is not fun being spacesick.]

Grif’s eyes were widened with horror. “Then how are we-“

“Que yo no era. Porque dejé mi estómago atrás con los demás.” [Which I wasn’t. Because I left my stomach behind with the others.]

Locus held up a hand, cutting off the robot’s Spanish complaints and Grif’s nervous muttering. “He does know the coordinates for the planet where your friends traced the signal.”

“Y también porque no tengo un estómago real. No me diste uno de esos. En cambio, usaste la habitación como espacio de almacenamiento para tu Kleenex.” [And also because I don’t have an actual stomach. You didn’t give me one of those. Instead, you used the room as a storage space for your Kleenex.]

Grif rushed towards the front of the cockpit again, returning to his seat, knocking the robot’s head off the panel in what seemed to be an accident. But who knew? The robot cursed as it fell to the floor.

“Oh, so we’re going there?” Grif asked, grabbing onto Locus’ arm, hopefully unware of the way he froze at this sudden physical contact. “Wait, we’re basically gonna do all the stuff I didn’t want to do when we had to do all that stuff? This is some serious redemption road… Awesome.” Then his face darkened, matching the tired circles under his eyes. “Wait! Can we make it in time? Locus, man, we have to make it in time! We gotta- gotta-“

“We will make it.”

Grif blinked. “You think?” he said, the hopefulness a bit too obvious in his voice. It almost sounded like it was shaking.

Locus kept staring straight ahead. “My ship is specially designed for fast travel.”

“Is that why it is so small?” The orange soldier looked around in the small room, now even more cramped with an extra passenger and an armful of volleyballs being added to the crew. “Where did you get it? Did you steal it? I thought you were done with the whole criminal life thing. Did you buy it? How much does it cost? I want one. Wait – where do you sleep?” He gasped. “Did you trade your bed for an extra engine?”

“I-“

Grif tilted his head. “That’s the dilemma, right? I want both. Speed or sleep… One of life’s great questions…” He trailed off, biting his lip again.

Locus appreciated the moment of quiet where he could just focus on getting through space with the fastest speed possible.

He knew what was at stake.

And Grif knew it too.

But for now, the orange soldier apparently had other worries. “Wait, where _do_ you sleep?”

* * *

Later Locus showed Grif how to adjust his seat into a horizontal position. The orange soldier quickly and loudly noticed it wasn’t exactly a bed, but then had explained he could sleep everywhere at any time. Another skill. Apparently.

“I can be the pilot,” Grif suddenly offered. “If you want to nap.”

“Do you know how to pilot this ship?”

“Sure.”

“…Who taught you that?”

“No one,” Grif replied with a shrug, as if it wasn’t a matter of concern.

For a brief moment Locus considered letting a man he’d just witnessed conversing with volleyballs to be in control of the ship. But then he came to his senses. “You can sleep.”

“Hey, I won’t say no to that offer.” He sunk deeper into his seat, letting his head rest on his hands as a makeshift pillow. His eyes suddenly opened. “You’ll wake me when we’re there, right? I don’t wanna miss anything, I can-“

“I will wake you up.”

“Good.” He exhaled slowly. “Waking up too late sucks. Sometimes. It’s… It can be bad. Sometimes. Goodnight. Buenas noches, Lopez.”

“Recógeme del piso, idiota.” [Pick me up from the floor, you idiot.]

It took a while before Grif’s breathing has slowed down to the point where Locus knew he was asleep. He remained quiet, staring into the darkness in front of him. It had grown a familiar sight since leaving Chorus. He hadn’t decided where to settle yet. And, truthfully, he wasn’t aiming to do so.

“Si la misión falla, obtendrás la custodia de él.” [If the mission fails you’ll gain custody of him.]

“I will not,” he replied without looking at the robot.

“Por supuesto. Porque él es capaz de cuidarse a sí mismo. Felicitaciones a tu compañero nuevo.” [Sure. Because he is capable of taking care of himself. Congratulations with your new partner.]

Locus hesitated for a moment but then reached down and picked up the head with one hand. He placed it on the panel, next to the red painted volleyball. “We will save your friends,” he said, eyes darting back to the controls.

“Ese es el plan. Ojalá pudiera ayudar, pero no tengo manos. Es una tragedia.” [That is the plan. I wish I could help but I have no hands. It’s a tragedy.]

He fell quiet after that.

Locus did not attempt to start another conversation, so instead he told himself to enjoy the silence. He had a feeling it would be a rare treat in the days to come.

After so many months on his own, he had become used to silence. It had been… difficult in the beginning. He’d been relying on a partnership for a long time.

Now Felix was dead.

And Locus-

A loud, horrified scream filled the cockpit. Locus had heard those before, during wars, during horrors and pain. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stared into the darkness, passing by planets and stars in the distance. Maybe he had been tired. He couldn’t quite say the exact time when he’d last slept, but he hadn’t felt that big a need.

The noise had been unexpected, and it had pulled him from his thoughts so abruptly that his body reacted by instinct.

When he became aware of his actions, he expected another scream from Grif. Locus was, after all, pointing his pistol at his forehead. It would have been a natural reaction.

But Grif just looked up at him, eyes slightly glazed with the last remains of a nightmare. He was breathing in heavily, chest heaving for air, hands trembling slightly.

Locus stared at him.

Grif stared back.

“Buenos días,” Lopez said, breaking the silence.

Grif blinked, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, and Locus slowly lowered his gun. He’d opened his mouth to apologize – holding Grif at gunpoint had been unnecessary – but the orange soldier spoke before him.

“Shit, fuck, sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me.”

“Right. Stoic super soldiers don’t get scared. You get… startled? Bamboozled?”

“I do not get _bamboozled_ ,” Locus huffed, holstering his gun.

“Startled, then. Shit man, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

Locus held up a hand. “I… understand.” He’d suffered from nightmares for a while now.

He hoped that one day they might fade. He did not think he’d ever disappear. Nightmares were too strongly connected to the guilt.

Grif bit his lip again. Without moving his head, his hand reached out, almost unconsciously, to grab the maroon painted volleyball. He hugged it close to his chest, and eventually his trembling slowly dying down.

“It’s just… stupid shit. Mainly. Not that it matters now. Sometimes, I just wonder…” He trailed off, something in his eyes hardening. “I’m hungry. Do you mind if I take that marble cake? I think we have two, if you want some.”

“No thank you.”

“I’ll take yours then. Awesome.” Grif stood up, and they both pretended not to notice how his hands were shaking. “So… awesome.”

* * *

Locus did not gain any sleep that day. Neither did Grif, which turned out to be the main problem.

Scowling, Locus tried his best to ignore the ever constant stream of words leaving Grif’s mouth. His head was throbbing, the lack of rest and the knowledge that time was slowly running out not helping the least.

He’d thought it’d help when Grif stopped asking him question, and turned to Lopez for conversations instead. But he hadn’t.

He’d turned to the volleyballs.

“-apologize, and they’ll forgive me, right? Maybe. I should practice. What if I bring gifts? No, wait, not gifts – I’d never find anything they’d like. Oh man, I should have taken pictures of the base before leaving. Simmons would never believe that I-“

“Would you stop?” Locus suddenly found himself hissing.

Grif froze like a deer in the headlights. “Sorry?”

“If we are to succeed in this mission, I need you to focus and I need you to hold on to what little sanity you have left. Do you understand?” He’d considered just getting rid of the volleyballs – he even had a dagger ready, strapped to his thigh – but he’d figured he’d only add to the trauma. Grif stared at him, eyes growing wider and wider. “You will not seek out your hallucinations. You will not speak out loud every single thought that happens to cross your mind. You will not-“

“Sorry.”

“You will not use apologies as your common mode of communication.”

“…Sorry?”

Locus sighed.

“Es inútil.” [He is hopeless.]

“I know,” Grif said, quietly. “I’m just… I can do this. Okay? I gotta do this. You can throw out the volleyballs. If you want to. It’s okay. Like, they’re just volleyballs. Stupid, worthless volleyballs. Yeah. Wasn’t like I connected with them or anything. Pfft. I don’t need that. They don’t need me. They’re volleyballs. You smash them. To win. Not because you’re angry or you have a grudge. You… smash them. And then you win. Yeah.” He wrung his hands. “You can throw them out. We- I don’t need them.”

Locus closed his eyes behind the helmet. “…They can stay.”

“Oh thank God. Or Gods. Or the sky. Hey, did you ever wonder why we’re here?”

Locus leaned back in his seat. “No.”

“Are we there soon?”

“We are not doing that,” Locus grunted because his patience would only last for so long. It had already been tested enough. He was not ready for the question to be repeated over and over.

“Por qué no? Es una pregunta relevante ahora cuando estamos tan cerca de nuestro destino.” [Why not? It’s a relevant question now when we are so close to our destination.]

Locus turned his head to stare out of the cockpit window, realizing they were indeed close to the planet. He grasped the control handle as he prepared to break through the atmosphere.

“¿Por qué estoy piloteando esta nave cuando no tengo manos?” [Why am I piloting this ship when I don’t have hands?]

Could robots sound smug?

To their defense, the ship had a reliable auto-pilot that allowed Locus to get some hours of sleep every now and then, or, in this case, to deal with an upset Grif.

But now he was in charge of the controls, making sure they had a gentle landing. He felt Grif’s eyes on him with every move he made, every button he pushed.

When the ship was safely on the ground, he gathered the gear he needed in order to trace the signal. “You can stay,” he said over his shoulder before walking out of the ship.

“Nojoda. ¿Esperaste que yo caminara?” [No shit. Did you expect me to walk?]

“Wait, I’ll help,” Grif said, only a few steps behind him. Locus did not slow down. “That’s why you brought me along, right?” the orange soldier said, walking next to him. “To help.”

“I need you to keep watch,” Locus said as they entered the city. Empty buildings became their surroundings, broken windows and overgrown plants. “We know very little of this planet and what dangers it might hold. I will only be gone for a while.”

“I’ll watch your back,” Grif promised before walking up some nearby stairs to get a view from above. “I’ll go in total sniper mode. Without the rifle. I’ll see them coming before they even see me. Eyes like hawk. Or eyes like the night cam of a _Sky X420 Version 2_ drone, as Simmons always says.”

His voice faded away as Locus gained more and more distance between them.

At some point he stepped on a bone – one he recognized as human – and froze. Just for a moment. Then he continued walking. It wasn’t a new sight, he’d seen such human remains before. In fact, he’d seen it while the corpses still had flesh – before the rot set in and only left the bones behind.

Sometimes he wondered how Felix’ corpse looked like right now. But only sometimes.

He found the relay, frowned at the sight of the toy, but then proceeded to trace the signal as fast as possible. He got the coordinates. A desert planet not too far away. Good. They still had time.

He walked back through the city quickly, ignoring the crunches under his boots. They had time but they needed to hurry.

And of course he was unable to find the orange soldier where he had left him.

“Grif?” he eventually called out, and he received no answer. Of course.

He cursed under his breath and turned to walk down another silent street. Dead. Empty. He briefly wondered what had happened, but he knew the signs of war well enough to understand that a battle had taken place. He could not remember if he’d been here before. There had been so many places, all left behind dead and empty.

He caught a glimmer of orange from the corner of his eye. “Grif,” he said again, this time with an annoyed grunt.

Entering the destroyed bar, he stepped on pieces of glass that broke under his boots. The orange soldier didn't turn around at the sound. Locus held back a sigh. He should have expected Grif to go on a hunt for food.

Grif was leaning against the counter in the corner of the room. His gaze was focused on the sign on the wall. _The Flipped Coin_. The light wasn’t working in the neon tubes.

“Holy fuck,” Grif whispered, just barely loud enough for him to hear. “I know this place.”


	2. Annoying Orange

“It’s rude to ignore my question,” Felix had said, voice sharp.

Locus frowned behind his helmet. He’d thought the conversation over with. But Felix, as always, was too talkative. “It’s pointless,” he told him dryly, lifting his chin. “I do not have to waste my time on your daydreaming.”

Felix had found his knife, throwing it in the air before catching it was ease. He shrugged. “I am just planning ahead. You’re the one who always says to follow the plan, so guess what – I’m making one.” His gaze settled on Locus. “I want to work out the exact order we shoot those colorful morons, you know, to increase the fun. So I need your opinion, partner. Orange or maroon?”

He considered.

“Orange.”

* * *

“Shit,” Grif said as he stared at the broken neon sign. “Shitshitshitshitshit.”

Locus watched him, and he saw the way the orange soldier’s hands had begun to shake. He was gripping an old menu card tightly. The worn plastic had green moss growing around the edges.

“40 percent discount for soldiers every Saturday night,” Grif said and it was followed by a dry snort, maybe a bitter laugh. “Worst beer I’ve ever had.”

Locus looked around at the old, worn interior. Everything was covered with a layer of dust, the windows were broken. But he also saw what the place had once been: the bar chairs with rotten upholstery, the faded pictures on the walls, the cabinet behind the counter where bottles lay untouched.

He’d spent time in bars before, long nights stretching even longer. He had never liked the big crowded rooms or the loud noises and the too many questions directed towards him. But Felix had always been the one to drag him along.

Felix had loved the nights in the bar, conversing with other guests with ease, and he’d known that Locus despised coming along.

There’d been enough reasons for him to drag Locus with him.

 Grif was sitting deadly still on his chair.

“My friends are dead,” he said quietly.

“Not yet,” Locus told him. “I’ve traced the signal. I know their location.”

To his surprise, Grif didn’t react. He was as frozen as a statue, staring at the wall behind the counter. This was the quietest he’d been since Locus picked him up, and Locus couldn’t bring himself to feel relieved for a moment.

From all he could tell, Grif barely acknowledged his presence.

And maybe it was the best that way.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, already taking one step backwards. He knew he had no right to intrude. And that he, of all people, did not have the competence to comfort.

“ _No_.” Grif spun around, finally staring at him. The visor revealed nothing, but Locus could imagine his widened eyes behind the glass. “We gotta- we gotta leave. _Now_. We have to leave now.”

Then he sprung from his seat, marching right past Locus with a speed he’d not expected from him. In the silence, the glass broke loudly under his boots.

For a moment Locus just stared at the broken neon sign.

Below it, in the corner of the room, a skeleton was resting. After so long, only the bones were left. Locus thought of Felix-

Then he turned around and left _The_ _Flipped Coin_ as well.

Grif was already far ahead at him, turning a corner blindly as he tried to escape the labyrinth the narrow streets created. The tall buildings hovered above them, broken windows staring down at them. Locus quickened his pace with a frown. From behind the orange soldier, he watched how his movements grew more and more frantic, head turning from side to side as he tried to find his way out.

“The ship,” Locus said loudly and firmly as he caught up with him, “is in this direction.”

Grif froze like a deer caught in the headlights, looking up at Locus. Locus thought he might flee from him: he’d seen such a fearful stance before, when he’d successfully cornered his targets.

But then the orange soldier straightened out his back, and he spoke, voice rushed but oddly excited, “The ship. The ship you have. Your ship. We have a ship. Locus, we gotta use the ship. We have to leave! We have a ship-!”

They hastened to Aranacia in the same speed as if they were retreating from enemies. Grif entered the ship first, basically throwing himself into his seat.

Locus followed soon after, controls coming to life under his hands. The ship started to hum. It had become a familiar sound by now, soothing.

The robot asked from the control panel, “¿Que esta pasando?” [What is happening?]

Locus ignored him, suddenly sharing Grif’s eagerness in leaving the planet. They were, after all, supposed to hurry. “Put on your belt,” he ordered Grif while slowly beginning the steep takeoff.

Grif did was he was told, hands shaking.

“Seriamente. No tengo forma de investigar lo que realmente sucedió. Necesitas decirme para que mi conocimiento progrese más y, además, no tengo ningún cinturón, tú ... ¡Idiotas!” [Seriously. I have no way of investigating what actually happened. You need to tell me in order for my knowledge to progress any further, and, also, I don’t have any belt, you- _Idiots_!”

The head fell from the panel to roll down the floor, until he slammed against the wall in the other end of the cockpit. The volleyballs, useless as they were, followed suit.

Locus found himself holding his breath until they broke through the atmosphere and they were in the comforting darkness of space.

It was silent, with some muffled Spanish swearing in the background, but still calm.

 “We weren’t there.”

He turned his head, staring at Grif in surprise. That the orange soldier was the one to break the silence should perhaps not be that shocking, but after the scene earlier he’d expected otherwise.

“What?”

Grif had taken off his helmet, running a hand through his dark hair. His hands had stopped shaking, but his eyes had hardened instead. “You and I. We weren’t there. Down there. _Uplora_. Fucking dead planet in the middle of nowhere. _We weren’t there_. You picked me up, and then we went straight to the guys.”

He looked directly at Locus with the same intensity as when he’d just been picked up and invited inside the ship. There was desperation in the glance. But before it had been raw and vulnerable. Now it was still raw, but it had grown darker, into something else.

Locus stared back for a few seconds. Then he nodded. “Understood.”

Grif’s eyes flickered away. He inhaled sharply, biting his lip as if to hold something back-

And then the dam broke.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck. Why would we even go there?! Do you think the universe hates me? ‘cause I think it does. What the actual fuck-“ He cut himself off, doubling over slightly. “Do the others know? Was there anything there- No, nothing, there was nothing left. No fucking way they could have known. The place is dead. Super duper. Absolutely positively do-not-resurrect dead. I’d know.” He clutched the edge of the panel tightly. “Doesn’t matter. We weren’t there. I don’t have to talk about it with them. I don’t have to talk about it with _you_.”

Locus said nothing. Grif was more than right in his statement. Locus had been their enemy and was yet to earn their trust. The fact that Grif had willingly come along with him had to be caused by a mix of desperation and deliriousness.

He had no right to comment on Grif’s personal struggles. And from the sound of it, this issue had never been shared with anyone else before.

“¿Alguien me recogerá? Mi cabeza está actualmente presionada contra Donut en una posición incómoda e inapropiada. No deseo estar tan cerca de ninguno de ustedes. Nunca.” [Will someone pick me up? My head is currently pressed against _Donut_ in an uncomfortable and inappropriate position. I do not wish to be this close to any of you. Ever.]

Either Grif didn’t hear the robot, or he pretended not to have done so. His fingers were buried in his own hair, breathing speeding up. “I need- I need-“

He left his seat, heading for the back of the cockpit.

“¡Por fin!” [Finally!] But the robot’s hopes died when the orange soldier ignored him and focused on the volleyballs instead. “Me siento traicionado.” [I feel betrayed.]

“Simmons.” Grif returned to his seat with a volleyball in his hands, tracing its seams carefully with his fingers. “Simmons, I- You-“ His voice became lower and lower at this point, and eventually Locus could not hear what he was saying. He did not try to listen more closely.

“Seriamente. El viejo me hizo ver sus telenovelas una y otra vez. Recitaré líneas, episodio por episodio, hasta que me recojas y me ubiques en un lugar digno.” [Seriously. The old man made me watch his soap operas over and over. I will recite lines, episode by episode, until you pick me up and place me in a dignified spot.]

Locus sighed before standing up to place him on the control panel again.

“Gracias. Esta es la segunda vez que me recogiste, y ya has hecho más por mí que ninguna otra persona en mi vida. Quiero estar agradecido, pero en cambio estoy decepcionado de mi propio destino.” [Thank you. This is the second time you’ve picked me up, and you’ve already done more for me than anyone else in my life. I want to be grateful, but instead I am just disappointed in my own fate.]

Grif was mumbling something to himself, and Locus turned his head to stare at him.

Lopez must have heard it as well.

“¿Quiero preguntar? Probablemente no. Cuando no me digas de todos modos.” [Do I want to ask? Probably not. When you won’t tell me anyway.]

Locus looked down at him, and wondered just what he had agreed to when he’d decided to pick up the floating piece of talking metal in the middle of space.

“Los otros probablemente no estarán felices si lo devuelves roto. Pero puedes decir que es su culpa. Probablemente es así.” [The others probably won’t be happy if you return him broken. But you can just say it’s their fault. It probably is.]

Grif’s head snapped towards him, apparently ending his conversation with the maroon-painted volleyball. “I’m not broken. Who’s broken? Not me? Who wants snacks? Did I eat all the marble cake before? Yes. Yes, I did. How fucking stupid-“

He pulled a snackbar out of seemingly nowhere, and managed to shove the entire thing into his mouth.

Locus could not help but feel a little bit impressed.

“You’re upset.”

“No shit,” Grif said, mouth full of chocolate and crumbs falling from his lips.

“Do you…” Locus sighed deeply and considered what he was doing. Eventually, he decided to continue, “Want to talk about it?”

“About what? The planet we just agreed we didn’t go to? Nothing to talk about. Why should talk about it when we didn’t go there? I don’t even know what you’re talking about! What are we talking about? Nothing.”

“I am not referring to-” He hesitated, knowing to be careful with his words, “-the planet we didn’t visit.”

Grif narrowed his eyes – more in curiosity than annoyance. “Then what _are_ we talking about?”

“Your isolation.” Locus turned to stare into the darkness again. They had time. They would make it. Until then, there was nothing to do but to stay on the right path. “I do not know all the details.”

He shrugged and moved his hands down to keep the volleyball in his lap. “Not much to know there. Just me. Being an idiot. Again.”

“You made a mistake,” he concluded carefully. The robot had given him little information on the subject.

“Damn right I did. But we’re going to fix it. You got the coordinates, right?”

“Correct. We are heading to this Armada 8 now.”

Grif was eating a snack again. Locus was unsure of where he kept those treats, but he didn’t want to ask.

It was the robot who, eventually, spoke to cover up the noise of the chewing.

“Tuve una conversación muy perspicaz con tus amigos de voleibol mientras no estabas. Insightful, porque no estaban diciendo nada. El silencio fue dorado.” [I had a very insightful conversation with your volleyball friends while you were gone. Insightful, because they weren’t saying anything. The silence was golden.]

“Silence sucks,” Grif said and spat crumbs at him. “You’d know if you had actual ears.”

“¿De verdad tienes que ir tan lejos?” [Did you really have to go that far?]

Grif then turned his focus on him. Locus didn’t start the conversation but he could feel Grif’s eyes on him for a long time.

And, in the end, Grif decide to speak. He kept his head low, looking at the volleyball and playing with a loose thread in the seams. “I know we were all just stupid Sim Troopers to you, and that your whole weird crush on Wash stole your focus, but we’re actually pretty good. Beneath all the shittiness. But, hey, we kicked your ass!” He sounded proud until he coughed awkwardly, apparently remembering the whole dark story that had led to the _kicking of asses_. “But that’s a long time ago, right, buddy? All water under the bridge, haha.” He laughed nervously.

A long time ago. It felt like it.

“Of course.”

“But Donut and grenades, right? It’s quite cool. And probably physically impossible. And Sarge and his speeches – like, how is that the old man is speaking nonsense 99.9 percent of the time, and then you get some weirdly uplifting words and it’s like an adrenalin shit that confuses the hell out of you later, but, hey, as long as it works. And _Simmons_.” The expression in his eyes had turned raw, slightly glazed over, but they were bright with pride – and perhaps longing. “Guy is a cyborg. Did you know that? Wait, you probably know that. Didn’t you and Felix spy on us? But Simmons – he says he isn’t good at it, but, like, put him in front of a terminal and he’ll hack it in like two seconds. And he doesn’t even touch the main frame! Shit, I don’t know even know how he does it but-“

“Deténgalo antes de que comience a sonrojarse.” [Stop him before he starts to blush.]

Apparently, that comment was enough to make Grif fall quiet. When Locus looked closer, he noticed that his cheeks were indeed slightly red, but that could have been the excitement more than anything.

He had other, more important, questions to ask. “If you had such admiration for your team, why did you decide to desert?”

“Because then there’s _me_ ,” Grif said, pointing at his own chest plate with his thumb. “Dexter Grif. The fatass. The one who sleeps and eats all the time. Even the reporter said it. Like, just look at Chorus. You remember Chorus, right? You _definitely_ remember Chorus. I mean, the Freelancers beat your ass. And Tucker – he faced Felix and shit. And Caboose turned out to be the true warrior, whatever that meant. Simmons came up with the plan so we could escape your deathtrap, and Sarge walked around beating up bad guys like a fucking Blue. And what did I do? Fucked up being a captain. And made some snowmen. Who even needs snowmen? They melt anyway!”

Locus frowned. “Snowmen?”

“Stupid, right?” Grif said with a snort as if he’d explained himself. “So I thought, what the hell am I doing? I can’t fight. Shit, I don’t want to fight. I shouldn’t even be here. I’m a draftee, you know. I didn’t want this. And the moon- The guys are fucking crazy, but that’s just the new normal by now, but there were no gunfights, no tragic revelations, no mass murdering, no dead kids… Just chill. And it was _good_. And then, fucking universe steps in, and here’s another dangerous mission and the guys run right ahead and they’re excited about it? I just don’t get it. How can they not feel _tired_?”

“You lost your purpose,” Locus said.

The orange soldier shrugged. “I thought that if I quit they’d tell my why to stay.” His expression seemed to crumble for a moment, just a second, before he sighed and just looked tired more than any other emotion. “I get that they wouldn’t fall to their knees and beg or anything, geez. But… Sarge loves his speeches, you know. So I figured, maybe there’d been a big thing about once a Red, always a Red. Or- or how I’ve never quit before so why start now. Or just ask why I-“ He bit down on his lip, starting a new sentence instead, “Not that I blame them for leaving or anything. I’d do the same. This was just all me being stupid and making stupid choices.”

“You-“

Grif cut him off, speaking at an almost incomprehensible speed again. “What if the guys won’t forgive me? What if they won’t let me join the team again?” And now his eyes showed an emotion: they seemed terrified. “Dude, I can’t go back to the moon, not again. I can go with you, right? If the others are still mad when all this is over. Right?”

There was a moment of silence.

“No estoy diciendo nada.” [I’m not saying anything.]

Locus ignored the robot’s obvious reference to his comment earlier, and instead he focused solely on Grif who was still staring at him, eyes wide and hopeful as if he was his savior. “I am convinced your friends will accept your apology.”

“But what if they don’t? There’s no reason why they should. I asked for all of this. Stupid Grif, why did I have to-“ He let out a frustrated grunt, throwing his hands in the air. “Why should they forgive me? I’m not even good at apologizing. I tried with Simmons before, but he just rolled away. So immature, Simmons!”

“Your friends forgave the Freelancers,” Locus pointed out. He knew that much. He was not sure if he understood all of the Sim Troopers’ actions through time, but he knew of them.

“Yeah, but they are like- like- really- you know!” Grif sputtered, still staring at him, eyes still widened.

“I do not.”

“I’m not a Freelancer!” Grif finally exclaimed.

“Gracias a Dios.” [Thank God.]

“I can’t throw knives. And I don’t have a grabbling hook or super strength or shit. I don’t show up to save the day or reveal tragic backstories and plot twists or fight the big boss. Fuck, even my snowmen melt.” For a moment he looked just lost, but then his expression hardened and he demanded to know from Locus, “Why did you pick me up?”

He blinked behind his visor. “What?”

“Why the fuck would you bring me along?”

Locus thought about the question. It would have made more sense to head straight for the rest of the Reds and Blues – which would mean going straight to the previous planet to gain the coordinates – and save precious time that could prove life-saving in the end.

But he’d listened to the robot tell his stories – about the reporter and her message and then the imposters and their underwater lair but also about what had happened before they had started their journey.

And the robot had made it clear that if he wanted the Reds and Blues to stay alive in the future, he needed to fetch the soldier missing from the group. For the team’s sake and Grif’s. The robot had also made it clear that Locus was never allowed to talk about what he’d told him, since the robot would always claim to never have been programmed with feelings and that he was going to defend this lie no matter what.

Locus thought about the question – for perhaps a moment too long.

Grif ended up huffing, taking the silence as an answer. “I think you fucked up,” he said sternly and rose from his seat. A second later he let himself fall back down again. “So, I was going to be dramatic and slam the door and shit, but your ship is really small.”

“Flamantes dibujos no te convienen.” [Dramatic flairs don’t suit you.]

Grif curled up in his seat, turning his back to Locus to look at the wall instead. Locus stared straight ahead, focusing on controlling the ship.

No one said anything.

Except the robot who decided to comment on the scene.

“Zurdo.” [Awkward.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your support! And thank you for reading!


	3. Childhood Aspirations

“Orange,” he said again when Felix kept staring at him with a tilted head. “For efficiency. Take out the other target while it’s stunned, quick and smoothly. _Efficiency_.”

The strategy had played out in his mind by instinct – one shot through the visor, then a wail from the maroon soldier who would fall when he pulled the trigger just afterwards. Felix would deal with Lavernius Tucker. That much had been settled from the beginning.

Locus had a feeling Felix would take his time when he killed. It wasn’t about efficiently. It was about a personal victory. About how much pain he could cause.

Locus didn’t care for the pain. He preferred efficiency.

“Who would have guessed,” Felix practically purred when his question was answered. He chuckled to himself, catching his knife in the air. “Orange.” 

* * *

It was quiet. An hour later, Locus decided that was not a good sign. When he’d suffered from the constant talking, he’d accepted it as a punishment he had to endure. And he was capable of enduring it.

It was only fitting – to test his patience. He deserved such challenges, to ensure he’d made progress. But he’d been in control. Stayed in control. And from the way Grif had seemed to trust him, he’d known so as well.

He’d mentally begged for silence, though. He was fully aware of what he deserved, and to listen to some inane banter had been the kindest of punishments. But it didn’t change the fact that he had longed for the silence he’d grown used to during his journeys alone.

The silence had made it easier to think.

Grif’s voice, despite it all, had made it easier for Locus to talk.

Now, Locus realized, he longed for the insane rambling.

He turned his head, watching Grif in his driver’s seat. The orange soldier had folded in on himself, knees pressed against his chest plate, arms wrapped around the volleyball.

He was looking out of the window, making a firm point of out not glancing in the direction of the former mercenary.

Locus understood, and he proceeded to turn his own head to look at the stars as well. He should focus on the trip itself.

The silence could force him to fly faster. Time was of the essence, of course, and he was slowly becoming more and more aware of the consequences should he fail. If he should be too late, he’d decided to make his way through the blockade around Chorus. If he failed Grif, he had no right to comfort him.

He opened his mouth and hesitated.

Locus wasn’t used to doing what he wanted. He was used to following orders. And after Chorus, he’d been focusing on what he had to do, in order to make this right. Or at least attempt to do so. He was aware that his crimes could not be forgiven.

Except by Grif. Apparently.

But now, hours after Grif had fallen quiet, Locus understood that he didn’t want the silence.

Locus turned on autopilot and shifted in his seat, facing Grif even if the orange soldier would not look back at him. “I agreed to kill you first,” he said, loudly, without missing a beat.

A moment afterwards, he realized that perhaps it wasn’t the perfect approach.

Grif seemed to jump an inch from his seat, like a startled alley cat, practically clinging to the headrest as he tried to scramble as far away from Locus as small room allowed him. He stared at him with widened eyes, and the fear in them was impossible not to recognize.

Locus shut his mouth so quickly that his jaw clicked.

“But _why_?” the orange soldier wailed. Despite the fear, he was yet to reach for a weapon. Locus supposed insanity would lower his natural survival instincts. Perhaps. Or maybe he was choosing to run in the choice between to flee or fight. “I- I get that I’m annoying, and I kinda suck, and, well, Sarge wanted me dead all the time so maybe I really shouldn’t be that surprised, and then there’s the whole thing about you trying to kill me before, but, _dude_ , we had some moments! Didn’t we? I- I gave you my fav MRE so… C’mon. _Why_?”

“¡CUANDO TE DIJE QUE LO ARREGÉIS, ESTO NO ES LO QUE QUISO!” [WHEN I TOLD YOU TO FIX HIM THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT!]

“I’ll keep quiet. Or talk. Or whatever you want me to do. Was it because I yelled at you? Oh man, I totally shouldn’t have yelled at you. You were doing so well and now you’re having murderous tendencies-“

“PUEDES EXTRAÑARLO. ÉL HA PROBADO ESO ANTES. BÁSICAMENTE SE HA CONVERTIDO EN UNA BOLSA DE PUNZONAR VIVA. PUEDES UTILIZAR ESO. SOLO DEJE UN PULSO PARA CUANDO LO DEJES CAERA LOS PIES DE LOS DEMÁS, O PUEDEN QUEJARSE.” [YOU CAN STRANGLE HIM. HE HAS TRIED THAT BEFORE. HE’S BASICALLY BEEN TURNED INTO A LIVING PUNCHING BAG. YOU CAN USE THAT. JUST LEAVE A PULSE FOR WHEN YOU DROP HIM AT THE OTHERS’ FEET, OR ELSE THEY MIGHT COMPLAIN.]

“You,” he began but he didn’t know which words to choose, “…misunderstand.”

“I’m pretty sure that was a death threat!” Grif said, balancing on the edge of the armrest now. “Or- or a past death threat. Or something. Death was definitely involved in that sentence! And it was pretty threatening! So!”

He huffed, knowing he’d kept his voice calm. “I was referring to Felix.”

“Dude, you are not helping yourself. That guy was a batshit crazy _killer_!”

“On Chorus,” he said, and he raised his voice to gain Grif’s attention. It worked, seeing how the widened eyes stopped darting around nervously to just stare directly at him instead, “I agreed to kill you first.”

That didn’t seem to have the desired effect, either. Grif narrowed his eyes. “Okay, wow, thanks for that shoulder pat, pal.”

_“Listen_. Choosing you as the first target would have caused emotional distress, rendering the next targets stunned. That strategy would not have worked had there been no significant bond between you and your team.”

For a while Grif didn’t say anything. He just stared at him, mouth open in a manner that imitated a drowning fish. But the look in his eyes changed – turning into something gentler, something more vulnerable, yet happier.

“Que hay de yo-?” [What about me-?]

Grif exhaled deeply. “Oh man, that- that really means a lot. I mean, you wouldn’t lie about that, right? You really wanted to kill me?”

Locus felt himself slipping deeper into his seat, whether it was in relief or exhaustion. “Yes.”

His answer must have been enough for Grif who hummed slightly in response and settled down in his seat again. His eyes drifted away from Locus to stare through the window instead, and minutes passed by before he asked quietly, almost as if talking to himself, “What do you do when you really fucked up?”

Lopez replied promptly, “Reiniciar.” [Restart.]

“That won’t work,” Grif waved him off before wringing his hands. He lowered his glare. “I- There’s a pretty good chance the guys might hate me. ‘cause I kinda said I hated them. And stuff. And that’s like a really big fuck up. And that’s coming from a past with like a million fuck ups. But this- this is top cake. Biggest screw up in history. And look what happened.”

“I shouldn’t have to remind you,” Locus said slowly, “of what I’ve done.”

Grif dropped his jaw, eyes widening even further. “Shit. _Shit_ , I didn’t mean-“

Locus held up his hand, a sign of his understanding.

It seemed to work as the tension left Grif’s body and he leaned back in his seat. He opened his mouth a couple of times without saying anything. Locus decided not to press the matter further, but waited until Grif started the conversation himself.

It took a couple of minutes. He cleared his throat, before saying softly, “That was my colony back there. My, uhm, old colony. It… didn’t go well.”

“Nojoda.” [No shit.]

“It happened pretty quickly,” Grif said and shrugged. “Aliens came and things got fucked up.”

“They are formidable enemies.”

“Heh, I wouldn’t know.” He looked away, biting his already bloody lower lip. “I slept through the entire thing. Napped in the broom closet. Woke up to find everyone dead. What a Monday.” He inhaled. Exhaled. “Took them two weeks to pick me up. Lotta- lotta of time on my hands. Back then. It was pretty quiet.” His fingers kept flexing, as if wanting to hold onto something, but the volleyball had disappeared from view. “The whole ‘sole survivor thing’ isn’t as pompous as they made it to be. Like, I got to live, _yes_ , and not-dying is really awesome, but it took them so fucking long…”

Locus could imagine it. The days spent in the bar, back when it had been filled with life and noise, and afterwards, when the ground had been bloody and it had been deadly quiet.

“They were waiting for you to die,” he decided to let him know. He knew what decisions had been made. Two weeks was too long.

Grif huffed. “Geez, now I feel better.”

“The procedure is not unheard of. No survivors means no witness accounts to adjust after. It helps decrease unwanted speculation.”

This information caused Grif to frown. He didn’t ask further into it but just sighed, “I should never have taken that nap.”

“You lived,” Locus reminded him.

“Yeah. That’s… Kinda summary of my life, I guess. Dexter Grif survives fuck ups. Hero of a planet.” Running a hand through his hair again, he tilted his head to look at Locus and he asked, “Don’t you ever just wonder why we’re here? Like, just really lean your head back and think ‘how the actual fuck did I end up here?’ I mean, I don’t think you wanted to be a mass murderer as a kid.”

“No hagas presunciones.” [Don’t make presumptions.]

Grif licked his lips before turning his own question towards himself and he said, “I wanted to be a pilot.”

Locus took a second to just observe the scene – noting the fact that they were in a spaceship and Grif was sitting within reach of the controls, and he remembered how the intel journal on Dexter Grif had mentioned piloting skills. “You succeeded.”

To his surprise, he shook his head. “No. Not really. I mean… That was just stupid kid wishes. You know, like Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy and hopes for the future. Why should I care?”

Locus suddenly remembered being small, staring up at the medals fastened to his father’s uniform, and occurred to him that he’d wanted to be a soldier for a long time. And now that desire was gone. “What do you want now?”

“Pfft. Easy. Food. Cigarettes. Naps. That’s me. Yep. Happiness right there.” Locus glanced at him, waiting, and finally Grif cracked. He whined before considering his answer. “ _Fine_. I don’t know. I want… To be alive. And useful. And enough.”

“Enough for whom?”

“The others,” he replied immediately. Then he tilted his head, throwing the question back at him. “What do you want, Locus? Wait. Redemption, right? But that’s- that’s very obvious. What about before that? Before Chorus and…” He trailed off, but they all knew what he’d meant.

Locus exhaled slowly as he thought about it. He’d joined the military for a reason, back then. “A sense of purpose.”

“Yeah.” Grif sighed deeply. “I want that to.”

“¿Nadie quiere saber lo que quiero?” [Does no one want to know what I want?]

Grif turned to face the head on the panel. “¿Y tú, Lopez?”

“Quiero tener un cuerpo por más de un año.” [I want to have a body for more than a year.]

“I’m sure Sarge can build you a new one.”

“Por supuesto. Pero luego lo rompe un mes después. Debería hacer que el nuevo cuerpo sea a prueba de explosiones y ahorrarse el problema.” [Sure. But then he breaks it a month afterwards. He should make the new body explosion-proof and save himself the trouble.]

Grif nodded happily, and then he directed a question towards Locus. “Are we there soon?”

“Yes,” he replied. If they avoided more obstacles, they would arrive within a day. Then there was nothing to do but to hope that they had been fast enough.

“So what’s the plan?” Grif asked him, eyes focused and alert as he awaited a response.

Locus had already thought about it. From what Lopez had told him, then these new enemies had attempted to capture the Sim Troopers, not kill them. However, the Freelancers’ faith was still uncertain. He’d have to gain more intel by entering the lair himself. And his stealth unit allowed him to roam around relatively unnoticed. “I will infiltrate the base. My stealth unit should allow me to locate your friends’ position without causing alarm.”

“What about me?” Grif asked.

Locus hesitated. He’d thought about that question as well, and his solution had kept changing the more he’d witnessed Grif’s mental instability.

The cockpit was filled with silence.

Grif’s expression continued to crumble as the seconds passed.

It was Lopez who spoke first. “Suave.” [Smooth.]

“I need your help,” Locus then told him, keeping his voice unwavering. There was no need to share his past doubt.

At the sound of his words, Grif lightened up immediately. It was almost fascinating to watch, the way life returned to his eyes and the corner of his lips pulled upwards into a genuine smile. “Sure thing, buddy! I can- I can- You need a distraction, right?”

He nodded. “From what Lopez described, these imposters seem to have a lot of soldiers securing the area.”

“Oooh, I could totally take care of that for you! Sarge always says I’m the best meat shield!”

Locus frowned, and he almost let the concerns get the better of him, before he decided just how to phrase his worry. He told him firmly, “If you are to do this, you shouldn’t seek out injuries. There’s no sense in sacrificing yourself-“

“But I-“

“Surrendering will give you the biggest chance of being reunited with your friends. Stay with them, and I will find you.”

“What if I don’t find them?” Grif asked him. “What if you find them, and they’re okay, but I’m running around in circles somewhere because I screw up everything, and then you have to leave, but I’m still stuck, and you can’t just leave, but you should – you really should focus on the guys. It’s alright, I’ll-“

“Grif.” At the sound of his name, the orange soldier fell quiet and his head snapped upwards. Locus inhaled deeply before continuing, “I will find you. Your team wouldn’t leave without you.”

“But they did,” Grif pointed out. He blinked, clenching his eyes shut for a while before beginning a new sentence. “I should practice on my apology. Where did Simmons go? I need-“

Grif had already turned in his seat, trying to spot the volleyball, but Locus reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, preventing him from leaving just yet. He felt the other man tense under his touch. “They will forgive you,” he told him before retracting his hand.

“What do you know about that? They’re my friends and I told them that they weren’t.”

“I’ve failed people too.”

“Dude, do you mean Felix? ‘cause that guy was a shithead and deserved everything coming for him. He failed _you_ , if anything. I know we all have a lot of assholes in our lives, but we gotta let go of the batshit crazy ones with psychopathic tendencies. It’s not like he was your only friend.”

Locus didn’t reply to that.

Eventually, Grif tilted his head and continued to talk, voice rushed but steady, “We’re partners now. And- I know that I suck at being a good friend, but I’m really, really practicing the whole being a good friend thing, so if you want a shit friend, you should stick with this annoying orange. I don’t murder planets for fun. But I do have a shitty timing when wanting to nap.”

Locus inhaled. Exhaled. Blinked. “I… Thank you.” He could live with this… humiliating phrase, he supposed. Better than to make Grif cry. So far on this trip, he’d come to learn that it was a very real possibility, and that he’d avoid it at all costs.

Grif shrugged carelessly. “No problem. Hey, if I say that I hate you in the future, just know that I don’t mean it before flying away.”

“Grif.” When he turned his head to stare at him, dark hair falling into his eyes, Locus told him, “I need to prepare my stealth unit.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Uhm, okay, what does that-?”

“Pilot the ship.”

“Do you really mean that?” Grif asked. He couldn’t quite hide the excitement in his voice.

Locus said nothing but just left his seat and walked towards the back of the ship. It was only right to upgrade the unit, just to be sure. Better than to have it fail on him during this mission. He knew he had to succeed this rescue.

Without looking over his shoulder, he heard the others talk behind him.

 “Oh god, he meant it. Hey, Lopez, look, I’m flying the Locus Pocus.”

“Y de repente siento que mis niveles de ansiedad aumentan.” [And suddenly I feel my anxiety levels increasing.]

“It’s gonna be fine, Lopez. Bueno. Muy bueno. All of us.”

Locus kept his expression neutral and hoped, for the sake of all of them, that Grif was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have it, folks! The end of this friendship fic! A lot of dialogue, I admit, but I just wanted to show some moments between these two. I hope you all enjoyed the story! Thank you for all your wonderful support!

**Author's Note:**

> As always: English is not my native language so I apologize for any mistakes, and you can find me on tumblr as riathedreamer.


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